


Twilight

by vailkagami



Series: Within the Dissolve [8]
Category: Dark Souls (Video Games), Dark Souls I
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-09
Updated: 2018-03-09
Packaged: 2019-03-29 05:43:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13920603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vailkagami/pseuds/vailkagami
Summary: A quiet moment between Ciaran, Artorias, and Sif, before the end.Set afterPurpose, can stand alone.





	Twilight

The moon was low in the sky, and bigger than Ciaran had seen it in a very long time. She missed it; missed the gentle glow of starlight when she was in the capital for too long. Her assignments took her out of it not often enough, although these days she was more free to do as she wished.

Most people of Anor Londo feared the dark, having never truly experienced it within their city. Decades ago, when the Lord of Sunlight had left his cathedral never to return, the sun had set over the golden city for the first time in millenia. Ciaran had been there when the lords of the great houses had fearfully gathered in the streets, staring up at the beautiful, full moon as if it could harm them. Many had left soon after, even though the night ended and never returned.

It was not the dark, Gough had said. It was the realization that they were alone.

Lord Gwyndolin did his best to keep up the illusion, but by now there were few people left in the once lively lower town that used to be Ciaran's hunting ground. Those that remained did so out of ignorance and denial regarding their Lord's absence, not because Gwyndolin's illusion gave them any reassurance. The city of Anor Londo had not truly changed with Gwyn's leaving, nor had life taken a turn for the worse. There had been no reason for everyone to go but the dawning fear that their time was simply coming to an end.

Ciaran did not know where they hoped to escape that end. She knew none of those who had gone away would ever return, whether they found another life elsewhere or not.

This world no longer needed them, as Artorias had once said. He was the kind of person who could say that without bitterness, merely making an observation. Like Gough, who had left as well, although he was still around. Ciaran knew where to find him, in his self-chosen exile. Sometimes she went to see him. She no longer asked him to come back, accepting that he would not. Why he would prefer an existence locked in a tower over the freedom he once had, she could only guess. Gough was blind now, and claimed to be of no use to them anymore, but to her that was an excuse. He was a dragon hunter without dragons to hunt, a knight without a lord, and this was his way of giving up on a life he thought without purpose. Ciaran resented him for it.

Yet she, herself, was stuck in her old ways, doing what she had already done when the world was a different place, though her actions no longer carried the same meaning. Just like Ornstein was still in the cathedral, guarding nothing.

Out of all of them, Artorias was the only one who had found a new purpose for himself, and it was slowly killing him right before their eyes. Sometimes Ciaran was able to put aside her premature mourning long enough to envy the fact that at least he was dying for _something_.

But yet he lived, and was here, whole if not unharmed. He was wearing his full armor, the dark silver of it gleaming in the moonlight and the tassel the same dark, deep blue as the midnight sky. His hood was hiding his features and Ciaran wanted to take it off and see his face one more time, while at the same time she wanted it to stay up and protect the illusion that all was well.

Sif was there, lying on the ground beside Artorias and enjoying a scratch between her ears. It was a peaceful scene, here in this clearing in the woods, not far from the township of Oolacile that existed serenely and untouched by the change of ages like a capsule in time. Ciaran could see the tower of the coliseum not far from them as a shadow before the stars, reaching tall and silently into the sky. She liked this place. It let her forget and pretend, and for once her life was peaceful here.

The creatures of the woods would not touch her as long as she respected them and kept the balance they protected. She might never fit with them the way Artorias did, but she knew about boundaries.

The moment lasted as long as they sat in silence. But they had information to share and none of it was positive. Artorias kept entering deeper and deeper into the Abyss, looking for the kings of New Londo, but they were hiding from him. His presence and pursuit kept them from exercising their power and pulling all of the city down with them; from becoming the threat to Lordran everyone knew they could be, but Artorias worried that at one point he would fall and then there would be nothing to stop them, except for desperate measures that would sacrifice the entire city and everyone in it.

New Londo could not be evacuated. Everyone inside was suspicious of being tainted by the Abyss, and so great was the fear of it that they were no longer allowed to leave. Artorias was their only hope for survival, and Ciaran knew that this knowledge lay heavily on his shoulders.

She asked about the curse of the undead that had befallen the civilization of the humans about the same time the Witch of Izalith had attempted to recreate the first flame. Artorias told her that neither New Londo nor Oolacile seemed affected, and that he had not heard of new cases since Lord Gwyn had linked the fire. Then he fell silent for a while before mentioning that the curse had first appeared when the fire had been remade, if unsuccessfully, for the first time. “Perhaps it is a warning,” he mused. “The age of fire is over, and yet it is not. We are keeping it alive past its end. In a way, we are existing in an undead age.”

It was not a view Ciaran wanted to share, if mostly because it made her shiver. It meant that they had truly overstayed their welcome in this world. “But the age that would replace it would bring only dark. Nothing could exist there.”

“So it seems. And yet, there is something in there that resonates with humanity. Perhaps they would even thrive in that age.”

Ciaran shuddered. There was nothing good about the idea of an age dominated by man.

“Perhaps there is a connection between the age of darkness and the Abyss,” Artorias continued.

“One more reason to prevent it from happening.”

“I do not believe we can. All we can do is stave it off. Gough knows that.”

“Gough knows only how to run away and pretend it is no longer his problem.”

Artorias said nothing in return; if he thought her too harsh, he kept it to himself. Ciaran thought that maybe he knew she was speaking out of fear and hated the idea.

He asked after Anor Londo then, and she gave her report on her activities and the observations of her spies. There was not much to do for them these days, as many of those who might become a danger to the land had left. But the now empty houses were good hiding places for those who did not wish to be found and Ciaran's Lord's Blades made sure that there was no place truly safe for them, as they always had.

The abandoned houses were being looted. Ciaran and Ornstein took care of the looters mostly because there was little else for them to do.

Artorias did not react to her mention of Ornstein at all, except for nodding in acknowledgment of the information. In this moment she hated his hood and his ability to hide behind it. She would never, it seemed, completely know what he was thinking.

It did not take long for them to tell each other everything they needed to know about the goings on in their respective areas of responsibility. They did not venture into anything personal, and yet the old familiarity was there when they sat in silence under the stars, as was the old ace in Ciaran's chest, that forever unfulfilled longing, and the first bitter breath of grief. She could have left for Anor Londo now but had no reason to be there at this time, and the night was something to be savored when one had the chance to experience it, as were old friends in a world where everything faded away.

All three of them stayed in the clearing until morning. Artorias eventually settled against Sif's large, warm body and fell into a sleep only the occasional twitch told Ciaran was not entirely peaceful, and Ciaran herself, after watching them for a while, settled beside him, trusting Sif's senses to warn them of anything that might mean them harm. At some point she woke to Artorias groaning in his sleep and reached out and took his hand in both of hers. He settled down after that and stayed quiet until the sun rose. Sif also lay her head back down, but while Ciaran drifted off again, the wolf, she could tell, did not go back to sleep.

They parted briefly after sunrise. Ciaran wanted to tell Artorias not to get himself killed, but she feared, with pain in her heart, that it might already be too late for that. Artorias told her to take care of herself, as he already knew that she was taking good care of Anor Londo. She could not express how much his faith in and concern for her meant to her and so she did not try. He likely would not have understood anyway.

By the time she reached the stairs leading from the Royal Wood to the Burg above, she no longer held tears in her eyes.


End file.
